Returning to Caiyha: Day 1

by **Harkon** on September 28th, 2014, 2:29 am

Timestamp: Fall 84, 514 AV
Starting Location: Harkon's Home in the Terraces

Harkon woke up well before Syna graced the world with her warmth, knowing today was the continuation of a tradition that his father had instilled in him years ago. His father had always referred to it as 'Returning to Caiyha,' and it was something his father had taught him. Harkon could always remember him saying things like 'One who doesn't know the land he's in will always die by it.' He rose out of bed, stretching his body out. He'd made plans the day before with a neighbor, who had agreed to keep an eye on his place until the beginning of Winter. Harkon wasn't overly worried about his few possessions being stolen.

He ate no breakfast, and packed no gear. He removed all of his clothing, and grabbed a new loincloth from his trunk. He put it on, storing all the rest of his clothing, axes, and gear. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and whispered to himself, "May Caiyha be pleased with my giving of self to her, either with my becoming one with her, or giving my body to her world." He opened his door, and stepped out into the foggy morning air. He took in the mugginess through a deep inhalation through his nose. He had a good feeling about this Returning.

He looked up to the east, where he knew Syna would eventually rise, and made his way due south toward the bridge that connected to Dry Island, paying the toll as he went. He followed the road past the many houses and shops that grew alongside it, always thankful he left before most people would be awake and beginning their days. He wasn't embarrassed about his lack of attire, but he didn't feel like being harassed by people who felt it inappropriate. He continued along, crossing another bridge, then cutting through the Lantern Square and crossing the bridge to the southwest toward West Bank. From there he took a river taxi down river, stopping off by the Kabrin road on the Lorak plantation. Their plantation was open access for anyone wishing to travel through, so it was ideal for Harkon. He followed the Kabrin Road west, just as Syna began to poke her smile out in the distance, and he could already see slaves at work. Eventually he cut due south from the road.

From here, he knew it would take him half a bell or so to make his way past all of the trees and shrubbery. Before too long, he stopped on what he assumed to be the southern edge of the property, took a deep sigh, and crossed the threshold into the wild swamps proper. He took a long look into the surrounding skies, relieved to not see any clouds. Yes, a storm could blow in at a moment's notice, but clear skies brought some comfort. Since he would be out here til the end of the season, today would be full of preparation. Find a weapon, find shelter, locate water, and gather food.

by **Harkon** on September 28th, 2014, 6:12 pm

First things first, he needed to craft some weapons. Even if he found potential shelter, there might be something inside already claiming it. He needed to be able to protect himself. He began walking south from the Lorak Plantation, enjoying the long hanging willow trees around him and the soft, spongy soil beneath his bare feet. He stopped beneath a particularly large willow, and looked up into its branches. All of the branches were thin, twiggy, and would not do as weapons. Harkon glanced around his immediate vicinity and could only make out more willows and low lying shrubs. He'd have to go deeper in to find other trees he assumed.

He then cast his eyes downward, for if he couldn't use a weapon of wood, perhaps one of stone would do. Syna's light still wasn't high, and he couldn't make out much, so he crouched down to get a better look. His hand reached out toward the moss covered ground, feeling for something hard, while his eyes scanned for seemingly out of place lumps and bumps. But none were to be found.

He stood up, knowing that this wouldn't be too easy after all. He made his way southward once more, dipping around the abundant willows. Harkon continued this way for a while until something foul accosted his nose. Everyone would know this smell. Something was dead nearby, and had been dead for a while. He looked around, trying to follow the smell with constant sniffing, until he came upon what appeared to be a very decayed carcass from a deer. The carcass was partially in a small pond, much too small to hide a granidile. He noticed the way the skin was stretched taught on the deer's skull, several sections of the hide eaten away by nature. The hide and meat were beyond recoverable, and being what he assumed to be female, it had no antlers.

But all was not lost, for this corpse could provide some opportunity. He moved forward, trying to ignore the smell coming off his treasure, and grasped the head. He pulled the corpse backward, rather easily due to its diminutive size. Harkon noticed that the back legs and haunches were completely gone, likely eaten or disappeared beneath the waters of the pond. Thankfully it appeared most of the meat beneath the skin had been eaten away. His goal after all, was the bones.

He started at the bottom of the corpse, where the haunches had disappeared. The skin and hide was loose and flappy around the midsection. He picked up the corpse by the skull, and lifted it, shaking, to dislodge any loose meat or critters hiding inside. Some fat, meat, and a healthy amount of maggots and other insects fell to the ground at Harkon's feet. His nose wrinkled at the mound of mess, but satisfied that nothing seemingly dangerous popped out. He carried the corpse away from the chum pile, and placed the head in the crook of a willow branch, letting it hang down somewhat comically. He needed to remove the hide and skin, but had nothing sharp to attempt to cut it away.

He walked around the corpse, trying to judge the integrity of the brown fur. There were several holes eaten away, so he decided to use those as the weak points. The first was behind the left side's should. He wiggled his forefinger and middle finger into the hole, grasped firmly with his thumb, and began to yank down. At first, there was no give, so he really put his back into it, when a ripping sound broke the nearby silence. He continued his downward pull, watching the skin rip away, exposing the ribs and little bit of meat and fat beneath. Harkon could see the meat already beginning to turn green and grey from spoiling, which would at least make it easier to remove the parts he wanted, since it would be softer and looser. He yanked the strip of hide free, and draped it over a nearby branch. He continued the process, pulling strips and larger swathes of full. Occasionally they would tear across the mid, but that was to be expected for such a deteriorated hide.

The majority of the hide was removed, and Harkon studied the state of the bones beneath. Upon closer inspection, it seemed only a couple of ribs were intact, as well as just one leg. He noted that the front legs seemed to be made up of four larger bones and a handful of smaller ones. He hadn't been able to remove the hide from the leg, but he was confident he could shortly. He placed one hand high on the spine, and gripped the leg just behind the shoulder. He tugged on the leg,while pushing the body away, breathing deep as he yanked. Eventually it gave way from the shoulder, a strange triangular shaped bone falling away to the ground. Leg bone still in hand, he bent down and picked up the strange bone.

It was spongy on the exterior, some sort of fatty membrane. It looked like, with some effort, that it could be cleaned and sharpened into something akin to an axehead. He would definitely be keeping this. He set it down, along with the leg he'd ripped away. He then began working at the many, skinny ribs. These took a while, several breaking in the process. He managed to gather two intact ribs, and one that had broken into a decently sharp tool. He inspected the other leg, finding the strange triangular bone on that side as well, had been damaged and was unusable it seemed. He pulled the corpse down, and laid it across the chum pile from earlier, to allow nature to run its course. He gathered up the spoils from his effort, taking the sharper tool in his dominant, right hand as a temporary weapon akin to a dagger, and carrying the rest in his other arm. It was now time to find shelter.

by **Harkon** on September 28th, 2014, 9:23 pm

Harkon already knew what type of shelter he'd be looking for, especially since he had no skill, nor the tools and materials, to build one of his own. He knew the swamplands were full of well hidden caves and the like, and they often disappeared and reappeared depending on the water levels, weather, and the like. Normally he'd want something on higher ground for protection from weather and animals, but that wasn't really an option here. The hills here were minor inconveniences at best.

It was slow going, his continual journey south. He was studying each tree's root system, every dip and rise in the ground, searching for the easily hidden entrances. Several times he found himself stepping into surprisingly deep puddles, pulling his leg out and having to remove leeches before they dug too deep. A few bells passed and he had no luck, when his ears picked up a sound that brought him comfort. It was the sound of moving water, and it seemed larger than just a stream. He followed the sound, carefully for where there's water, there's animals, and where there's animals, there are predators. It eventually brought him to the bank of the mighty Ki River. He knew not to get too close, for granidiles were always a threat.

Harkon decided to use this river as a central area where he'd be active during this Returning. He walked parallel to the river, continuing his search, always mindful to keep his distance from the life-giving, yet dangerous waters. He wandered for bells, his stomach rumbling from hunger. But food could wait, shelter was much more important. He soon realized his haphazard search method wasn't really working. He cast his gaze downward, to see a pattern of scratches in the ground. He knew it to be some sort of bird footprints, though he didn't have the knowledge to identify it to a particular species. But it inspired an idea. He knew that many of the smaller mammals, like foxes and racoons might make their homes in caves. Perhaps if he could identify the prints of one of these, he could follow it to shelter.

Harkon soon realized he couldn't identify these prints from any other with ease. But it was a start. He'd just have to find one of these animals, see what prints it makes, and go from there. And for that, he'd need a hiding spot. Many of the trees provided excellent cover in their foliage, and it didn't take too long for him to find one large enough to support his weight. He placed his bone materials in a crook in the tree, keeping only the sharp one for protection. He grabbed a thick branch, found a foothold, and pulled himself up. He often found his grip slipping on the moist branches, his muscles complaining of the strain, but he eventually made his way high enough that he felt hidden, yet low enough that he could evacuate quickly and safely. He could see the river bank ahead of him, noticing the sun reflect brightly off the swift moving waters.

He laid in wait, a single bell passed. Then another. And so far, all he'd seen had been a few small birds. Then, he noticed a small creature at water's edge. It was fat and furry, and was dripping from what he assumed was a recent swim. He believed it to be called a muskrat. It appeared to be eating on some plant or other. He watched it move a bit further up the bank, when a flash of red darted out from hiding, lunging at the water mammal. Harkon watched it collide with a fierce tackle rolling end over end, the mammal squeaking in fear and surprise. The muskrat tried to escape, when Harkon recognized its attacker, a fox. The creature got a mouth on a hind leg, pulling the rat off balance, then lunging forward, snapping its jaws around the back of the rat's neck. With a quick jerk of its head, the neck snapped, and the musk rat's cries fell silent.

Harkon's grumbling stomach brought a decision to mind, as the fox picked up the rat, turning to leave. Jump out to scare the fox and steal its quarry? Or wait, and follow the fox to its home? But before he could make the decision, a beast lunged from the water out toward the fox in a watery explosion. There was a loud snap, as the jaws of a granidile closed shut, a hair's breath away from the fox. The fox had only managed to evade the attack by dropping its prey and turning tail. The granidile, having not captured its prey, slipped back into the waters that it was more comfortable in, to wait for something else to come near.

Harkon climbed down, nearly stumbling at the end, and gathered up the musk rat. He looked down, disappointed to see that the prints of the musk rat had been smoothed away by the body of the granidile. But he could make out the prints of the fox that had been there. One larger pad, with four smaller pads and four claw marks. He quickly gathered his spare bones, and began to follow the prints. Constantly looking up, then back down, keeping his pace slow so as to not lose the trail, he made his way through the wetland. He dipped around bushes, trees, small ponds, and cattails, until he came upon a small grove of mangrove trees just off of the Ki River. The tracks wound up and over roots, and several times he lost them, only to find them a bit further away. He thanked Caiyha the soil was moist in the swamplands making this a far simpler task than other places, or so he assumed. Eventually they came to an end at the mouth of cave, tucked just beneath a large mangrove, and he smiled. He'd found his shelter, but first he'd have to claim it.

by **Harkon** on September 29th, 2014, 1:45 am

He placed his bone remnants and musk rat corpse in the branches of the mangrove above him, hoping to keep them safe from scavengers like himself. There would not be enough light from Syna to penetrate the cave further than a few feet due to the canopy created by the nearby trees. Which meant he'd need a torch, which meant fire. Thankfully it hadn't rained in several days, so finding dry wood shouldn't be too difficult. Bone dagger in hand, he left his soon-to-be shelter.

At least now he'd hit a stroke of luck, finding many branches and sticks, none big or heavy enough to serve as weapons, but all would burn well. He continued along adding more to his hefty armload. He kept an eye out for several large rocks, for he'd use those as a border, and would come back for them. He returned to his site, dumped the arm load. These would simply get it going, he'd have to tear down larger branches later to keep it going. He checked his stash, and satisfied that all was in order, Harkon went back out for those rocks he'd seen. The first he came across appeared rather large and heavy, and was still in sight of his cave. He got down on his knees and began scooping out the soft, moist soil from around its edges, a process taking several chimes. He eventually found a bottom face.

He then stood up, crouched down with his knees and hooked a single hand beneath it. His other hand grabbed his wrist. He remembered to try and keep his back as straight as he could, and lift with his legs. He'd seen many a men throw their backs out attempting poorly planned lifts. So he began to rise, using his thighs to power upward, and the rock slowly began to dislodge. Continuing to rise, he noticed he was holding his breath, so he paused. Harkon knew better than that, so he got his breathing under control, lifting in segments as he exhaled, until he flipped the rock out of its hole and onto the ground proper. He didn't want to stop quite there, so he repeated a similar process to pick it up, and lumbered it back to his cave entrance, plopping it down next to the most level portion. This would be his seat rock. He smiled down at it, then sat upon it, resting and recuperating. The rest of the rocks could wait a bit, for they would be much smaller.

He leaned back, hearing and enjoying the cracking coming from his spine, his eyes cast upward. There he saw where he hid his stash, and a musk rat corpse that appeared to be moving. His eyes grew wide as he realized that something was getting his food. Immediately he shouted, "Hey!" A feline head peaked out over the corpse, blood and fur lining its mouth, followed by a hiss. He'd seen these as pets in Kenash proper, the damnable Sokki Cat. Cursing in his native Shiber, he jumped up, retrieving his bone dagger. Thankfully these cats didn't get too big so he wasn't overly worried. He began climbing up into the tree to get a better vantage of attack, but the cat was nonplussed. It simply picked up the muskrat, jumped down, and disappeared. Harkon let loose another string of Shiber obscenities, accentuated by the rather loud grumbling of his stomach.

But no time to cry over wasted water, he had a lot of work to do before food became a real concern. He could already feel his mouth beginning to dry from a lack of water. But the water here would need to be boiled, and for that he'd need fire. He went back out, gathering up the many rocks he'd need to line his fire. As he was about to head back, he spotted something that would certainly improve his mood. It was a large, light brown rock, and something all natives of the desert recognized, sandstone. He returned to his camp, dumped his load, and quickly made his way back, digging out the rock and carrying it back. Back home, sandstone was use for many things, but he would use it in making his water cleaner.

He sat upon his seat rock, his bowl rock sitting between his legs in front of him. He grabbed another rock, small enough to hold with one hand, and raised it up in the air. Harkon then brought it down with considerable force into the center of the sandstone. Small chunks of sandstone sprayed out from the impact. Satisfied, he continued the process, chipping, pounding, and hollowing out the center of the large rock. Eventually the shape of a shallow bowl began to form, but he wanted it to be much deeper. He constantly had to pause, and scoop out the dust, sand, and rock shards. Several bells later, he'd pounded the stone into a rough hewn bowl that he could fit two, maybe three fists in. He set the bowl next to his sitting rock, ready to start his fire.

It was well past midday, Harkon's stomach and throat needed nourishment, he was growing weary from the day's exertion. He grabbed a flatter piece of wood, a long, semi straight stick, and his bone knife. Placing the flat wood on his lap he began to carve a small indention into it, roughly the diameter of the longer stick. He made it fairly shallow and did his best to make the inner curve smooth. Satisfied, he then cut a notch through the wood that connected to the indentation he'd carved. He made sure that it opened outward from the indentation, but not overly so. He eyeballed it several times. Harkon knew that it was crude work, but it would serve his purpose, as a fireboard, or so he hoped. He then went to work on the stick, first stripping it of the thin layer of bark and unnecessary bulges and curves. He then carved one end of the stick into a broad, rounded point. He placed it into the the indentation, trying to get the sizes to match up. He continued carving, adjusting, until he was satisfied.

Harkon then stripped all of the bark from his various sticks and the like, and placed a pile of the bark in the center of his designated fire area. He then piled atop the tinder the smallest of his sticks, and slowly worked his way upward and outward to the larger of them. He then built a ring of the larger rocks he'd gathered around the wood to keep it somewhat contained. He then placed his fireboard down, with the notch facing the bark shavings and tinder. Kneeling over it, he placed one foot atop the fireboard, and placing the stick's end in the indentation. Clasping the stick at the very top between two open palms, he made sure he was in a comfortable position, and took a deep breath. Then he spun the stick as far as he could, while pressing downward. He then spun it back, then forth, and back, and forth once more. He knew he'd have to keep at this until he saw smoke, and if he stopped, raised the stick, he'd lose heat, and therefore effort. A full bell went by until a puff of smoke lifted. A good sign, but not the end. He kept at it, trying to keep his efforts even and consistent. When the smoke was more constant, he lifted the stick and saw a small, glowing coal that he blew in the direction of his tinder. He blew gently, praying to Ivak that it would ignite. Gentle blows, patience, and more smoke. Then more. Then the flame took, and a wave of relief overtook Harkon. He sat back on his sitting rock, and relaxed a bit.

The fire built slowly as Harkon looked to the sky, he still had three or four bells until night fell. He assumed he would not be eating tonight, but he could at least get water. He grabbed several small, smooth stones, wiping them as clean as he could with his sore hands. He then placed them within the fire in a place where he could easily retrieve them. He lifted the bowl he'd made, much lighter than the rock it once was, and carried it with him toward the river. Now he needed to find a way to get water safely without becoming granidile food.

Arriving near the river, he wanted to find a spot with a lot less vegetation. He had to walk a fair ways down the river until he found a shallower section full of rocks. A granidile would be easily seen here, and Harkon would remember this spot. He filled his bowl, noting the water was for the most part clear. But he'd remembered making that assumption once before, when he was traveling with his father. That resulted in a night of stomach cramps and more water leaving him through the wrong end than he drank. He filled his bowl and made his way back to camp, growing more and more weary as he went.

by **Harkon** on September 29th, 2014, 3:11 am

It wasn't too difficult for Harkon to find his camp once more, he could see the smoke, and just made his way in that direction, taking careful steps to ensure he didn't spill his water. Back at his camp, his fire was quite far along, and he could feel the heat coming off of it. He would put more of the bigger branches and sticks on later. For now, he set his bowl of water near his sitting stone, and grabbed two younger, greener sticks from his pile. One was a standard stick, the other ended in a prong. Pronged stick in his right hand, other in his left, he stuck the pronged one into the fire, and placed beneath one of the stones from he'd place in beforehand. Using the other stick, he leveraged it further onto the prongs, and then pulled it out of the fire, slowly and carefully maintaining the balance. He placed the rock into the water, that sizzled at its touch.

He repeated the process with some more of the rocks, ensuring some were in the fire staying hot. After a while, he would scoop one out of the water and put it back on the fire. He kept this up for a bell until the water was now at a rolling boil, the ultimate goal he'd wanted. He continued doing this for about half a chime, for the longer the water boiled, the cleaner it became. When he was done, he removed all the stones from both the water and fire, and waited for the water to cool. Once it was, he drank down the entire bowl, not minding that it was rather warm. He needed the refreshment and it helped stave off a little bit of the hunger pains.

After resting for a while, he returned to the spot he'd found at the river, refilled the bowl and returned once again. He repeated the hot stone process, to get the bowl to boiling once more. While it was doing so, he'd gathered all of his bones and laid them out in front of him. Using the sharper one, he began scraping the membranes off the outside of the bones, using the light of the fire as Syna's smile began to give way to Leth's. He cut away at the cartilage at the ends of the bones as well. He continued this while maintaining the boiling water. After cleaning all of the bones with the exception of his scraping bone, he began separating them. He settled on keeping the strange triangular bone, while separating the leg and rib bones. He placed the latter bones in the fire, watched and waited.

He remember hearing about this from fellow travelers. Cook bones in a fire for a while until they are brown, then place in boiling water. It was no substitute for food, but would keep you going for a good while. This was the first time he'd ever actually had a chance to try it. He decided to take the bell while the bones cooked to explore the mouth of the cave. He grabbed a larger stick from the fire that wasn't burning at the base. It wasn't a proper torch, but would last a little while he assumed. He held it out in front of him, slowly, cautiously entering the cave. It didn't seem quite large nor the beginning of an elaborate network. Rather, it was just a small cove, just enough to keep the weather out. The back wall was maybe seven feet in. This would certainly do, especially because he could feel the heat from the fire inside. Satisfied that nothing else was living inside, he returned to his seat.

He began inspecting the triangular bone. It had a lip that curled in on itself that he might be able to use as a method of attaching to a stick to make a makeshift axe. That would be one of the first things he'd work on tomorrow, as well as finding more food. Keeping himself mildly amused, the bones eventually browned, and he got them out of the fire with his green sticks, and placed them in the boiling water. He boiled them for quite a while, constantly replacing the hot rocks, until he could tell the water was turning a milky brown color. After a while, he stopped adding rocks to let it cool enough to eat. He had no spoon, nor anything to use as a substitute, so he settled for lifting the bowl to his lips and slurping it down that way. It was a strange taste, rather greasy and fatty, but not awful. This silenced his complaining stomach, and he soon felt sleep coming over him. He took much of his acquired wood, placed it on the fire to keep it going while he slept. He laid down just outside of the cave on the mossier ground, not needing protection from the weather. He closed his eyes and drifted off into slumber by the firelight.

by **Vice** on October 30th, 2014, 8:20 am

Harkon :

If you have questions, comments, or concerns, please send me a PM, and we'll discuss my reasoning behind why the grade given was received. Please make sure to edit any posts in the grading queue to 'graded' and update your CS as soon as possible. Enjoy! ^.^

Solo Returning to Caiyha: Day 1